My Life as A Death Guard (Warhammer 30K Male MC)

The Endurance, Third Archive

Now.

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The already sparsely populated third archive room was even emptier today. 

A few servitors, cloaked in simple gray-green robes, quietly shuffled between the bookshelves, organizing, retrieving, and copying books. 

The gentle sound of woolen pen tips scratching across paper filled the air.

The third archive room didn't entirely maintain the stark simplicity of the rest of the Endurance. Though gray and green were the dominant colors, some bare, almost rudimentary lamps extended from the walls, providing the only light in the room.

It was so dim that every table in the archive had a small, slender desk lamp added. When a reader needed it, they would sit down, switch on the little lamp, and read under its glow.

A massive, intricate, and even exaggerated mural was faintly visible in the dim lighting. The artists had poured their heart and soul into depicting the Emperor in all his noble grandeur. Idealism, elevated to a symbolic level, radiated from the mural.

The scene depicted the Emperor's first encounter with Mortarion.

An ominous gray-green mist seeped into the frame from the edges, only to be helplessly driven back by the golden light surrounding the image of the Emperor.

The Emperor, in the mural, was not clad in his iconic golden armor. He wore only the simplest white robe, held in place by vibrant green leaves—radiating holiness and nobility.

His gaze was lowered, filled with pity, compassion, and joy.

In his arms, he cradled his near-dead son, Mortarion, whose entire body was gray and rotting. His tattered gray robes looked like the remnants of bones.

Here was a dying Death God, a sight that would strike unease and fear in the hearts of anyone who saw him.

But not the Emperor in the mural. He held Mortarion, rescuing his lost son.

Praise the Emperor.

Hades stood beside this mural. Every time he visited the third archive room to borrow or return books, he would pause in front of it for a moment.

The painting was so finely crafted—the stark contrast between the Emperor and Mortarion, the dark, oppressive atmosphere, and the Emperor shining with the light of salvation. The dim lighting of the archive added a mysterious touch.

Hades marveled at how the mural was crafted to make anyone who saw it instinctively praise the Emperor. The mortal artists had truly captured the glory of the Emperor during the Great Crusade.

However, Mortarion definitely wouldn't be happy about it.

Hades shivered at the thought. He wasn't sure if Mortarion had ever seen the mural, but if he had, he could only imagine his reaction.

More likely than not, Mortarion had seen it, but there was no way he could point to it, surrounded by his Death Guard, and say, "I don't like it, paint a new one."

He'd probably just fume in private.

Besides the military, the artists, poets, and historians responsible for recording and glorifying the achievements of the Legion were also essential members of the Great Crusade.

And it was these very mortals, whom the Space Marines often looked down on, whose paintings could make a Primarch silently rage for a while.

Click, click, click.

After finishing his admiration of the mural, Hades beckoned to a servitor, who meekly approached.

Hades handed over the books he had borrowed last time: Noble Children's Bedtime Stories, One Hundred and One Low Gothic Insults, and Learning the Gothic Language: From Basics to Mastery.

The servitor shuffled away, and Hades, familiar with the layout, headed straight for the section he had visited last time.

Today, he was going to study!

Hades looked up and down, left and right at the shelves, and finally picked out One Hundred Tales of Terra Gossip.

The tables in the archive were all empty, so Hades casually picked a corner seat, sat down, and began to read.

The book was filled with bizarre, laughable anecdotes, with High Gothic satire and Low Gothic jokes mixed in. Hades quickly immersed himself in the content.

Until—

A figure sat down across from him.

A hunched, withered figure, cloaked in a faded dark-red robe. The tattered folds of wrinkled clothes were hidden beneath the cloak, and the edges were frayed and worn. Under the dim light of the small desk lamp, the details were strikingly clear.

"Hello," said the newcomer in halting Barbarusian.

Hades looked at the old man in surprise. 

Even by human standards, the figure appeared unusually small and frail.

Switching to High Gothic, Hades responded:

"Hello, and you are?"

The old man smiled, a mixture of relief and fear in his expression.

"I am a historian, once following the Night Lords, now with the Death Guard."

There was no exact word for "historian" in Barbarusian.

"Are you a historian?" Hades asked.

The man nodded.

Hades glanced around. There was no one else.

Since arriving on the Endurance, Hades had never seen anyone like this old man. His daily interactions were mainly with Space Marines, servitors, and human crew members.

"You're the only one?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, just me."

"My colleagues, the poets who once sought passion and romance, couldn't endure the Legion's period of adjustment. They all applied to be sent to the front lines, eager to sing the glories of the Great Crusade."

Hades looked at the elderly historian across from him.

"Why didn't you go?" Hades asked.

A flicker of light passed through the old man's deep eyes.

"My colleagues were too hasty. A Legion's period of adjustment is crucial, as it will determine the future development of that Legion."

The old man looked at Hades with a meaningful gaze, but the feeling quickly vanished, leaving behind only a hunched, frail historian.

Hades raised an eyebrow. 

Was this some subtle hint that he should go talk to Mortarion? Or was it just the musings of an old historian sharing his experience?

But a mere mortal historian had no standing or reason to make such a suggestion, and besides, he hadn't said anything explicit.

Or... was he deliberately being vague to provoke Hades into sharing his thoughts and starting a conversation?

Hades figured it wouldn't hurt to chat more with this historian.

When Hades left the third archive room, he was holding a copy of The Urr Chronicles, which the historian had recommended.

He had practiced his High Gothic conversation and chatted about some of the customs and culture of Barbarus.

Overall, it's not a not a bad experience.

Maybe I was overthinking it, Hades thought to himself.

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An:

After researching more about the Mechanicum, I found out that their attitude toward invention during the 30k era is a bit of a "Schrödinger's state."

In simple terms, when it comes to tech-priests inventing privately—it's fine. But if an outsider tries to tamper with their machines, nope, you've violated the sacred Laws of Complexity—definitely not fine.

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